


Muted Consciences and Crescent Moons

by dhyanshiva



Series: Character Contemplations [3]
Category: Shubh Mangal Zyada Saavdhan (2020)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Disabled Character, Canon Related, Character Study, Gen, Uncle-Nephew Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:01:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25177339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dhyanshiva/pseuds/dhyanshiva
Summary: This night – there was a crescent moon and a scattering of stars - was one for contemplation and reflection, that much was obvious. Keshav couldn’t hope to dignify chacha’s admission in words so reached out and took his hand. It surprised them both, this gesture, for he hadn’t done it in years. Turning so he faced his uncle head on, he watched a range of expressions flit past on his face before finally settling on something close to guilt.Or, a glimpse into the mind of Keshav Tripathi and how he perceives himself and the events that he's been witness to.
Relationships: Kartik Singh/Aman Tripathi, Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Series: Character Contemplations [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1815457
Comments: 7
Kudos: 15





	Muted Consciences and Crescent Moons

**Author's Note:**

> Courage is more exhilarating than fear, and in the long run it is easier. We do not have to become heroes overnight. Just a step at a time, meeting each thing that comes up, seeing it is not as dreadful as it appeared, discovering we have the strength to stare it down. - Eleanor Roosevelt
> 
> The series felt incomplete without something for our boy Keshav - I realised that I too was ignoring him and that made me feel terribly guilty :(  
> In my eyes, these two are quite similar and so, once I'd 'put' them on the terrace, the words came rushing forth and a majority of this was written in one sitting.
> 
> Aside from Chaman, I won't be writing from the elders' perspectives because I, quite frankly, am scared to and there isn't much that I can find my footing on. So, we're sticking to this generation :)
> 
> Can you guess what Hogwarts House I've put Keshav into?
> 
> DM or comment any feedback [ and more importantly, constructive criticism ] !
> 
> Much love,  
> Dhyan
> 
> PS. I have a piece that'll never see the light of day and the idea for this has emerged from its ashes.

Try as he might, Keshav found it impossible to fall asleep, his mind running in circles, going over the chaos of the past few days, this morning, again and again. It had been a few hours since everyone had gone to bed, so he deemed it safe enough to step outside and head to the terrace, feeling stifled within these four walls. He flung the duvet away and stood up, pulling open a drawer in his bedside table. It was a reflex for his fingers to close around the cool, slim iPad, for him to take it out and tuck it under his arm, safe from the prying eyes of his aunts and uncles. Yet now, he came up empty handed, and he was reminded, _painfully_ so, of the way Tauji had yanked it out of his hand and thrown it onto the ground. With a heavy sigh, he took out his phone instead and stepped out of his room, pulling the door shut behind him.

He was too lost in thought to notice his surroundings and so, barely stifled a yell when someone bumped into him – it was Chaman chacha. The older man looked surprised to see him and for a few moments, neither of them said a word. Keshav observed the way his uncle seemed to be unburdened, the perpetual frown had vanished and there was an air of satisfaction, of relief about him. Chaman reached out to squeeze his shoulder and it made him all the more curious. What had brought this change on? The question had gone unspoken, but the older man must’ve understood his query, for he gestured towards the terrace in a silent request: Can I join you?

Keshav’s mind was still going a mile a minute and his chacha was somewhat subdued so didn’t speak till they’d sat down next to one another on the rope cot – twin to the one downstairs, the one a beaten lover rested on. It was a few minutes later that Keshav broke the silence with a question. The way things had been going, neither embarked on fruitless small talk, acknowledging it would be a waste of time and energy. Thus, Keshav dared to open Pandora’s box – there would be no going back from here. But it was now or never. He had never attempted to ask this till date, but it had been nagging him for the past few days. Especially since their introduction to the whirlwind named Kartik Singh and the fallout following Gog- _Rajni_ didi’s almost shaadi.

“Kya aapko bhi –” he hesitated at this. The words were right there, at the tip of his tongue but not for the first time, he feared actually letting them out – what if he was scorned, shut down once more? Was it worth the chagrin, the bouts of shame? But no, surely, his chacha would understand. The two of them were like peas in a pod, in this aspect. They’d both been brushed aside, dismissed by the others time and again. More often than not by Tauji, the patriarch of this household. His uncle had been undermined time and again, for no good reason. It frustrated Keshav but he too, remained mum. However now, things had been turned on their head and it was time to be courageous. If not for Aman - and Kartik - bhaiyya, then for himself.

“Do you ever wish you were somewhere else entirely? Away from Allahabad, from this family?”

There. He’d said it. There was a lengthy silence that followed and Keshav dared to glance at his uncle, apprehensive of his reaction. Contrary to what he expected, Chaman Tripathi wasn’t angry or incredulous. Instead, he seemed to be giving his question a great deal of thought – taking him seriously. A rarity for Keshav Tripathi. As the silence continued, Keshav looked down, his thumb drawing meaningless patterns on the smooth phone screen. It was a nervous habit and the familiar sensation distracted him. The sound of chacha clearing his throat made his head snap up and he waited for an answer.

“Sach kahe toh.. haan. Bohaut baar isi ghar mein reh reh ke ghutan mehsoos hoti hai. Ini logon ke saath, din raat, wahi taane sunnte hue… Tum bacchon se hi mujhe – accha, kabhi kabhi tumhari Champa chachi se bhi - koi pyaar aur sammaan milta hai lekin haan..”

Keshav was stunned, rendered speechless by the admission. Chacha had let the weighted sentence trail off, perhaps unable to say any more. For Keshav though, this was more than enough. Though separated by a generation, he understood his uncle’s pain all too well. The feelings of loneliness, being misunderstood, treated as an outsider. Both at home and amongst his peers. Though he was only in his final year of University – here in Allahabad, he wasn’t allowed to leave the nest yet (Aman bhaiyya had shown his rebellious streak at the right time and legged it) – Keshav knew the experience was all too similar to his school years. He and a handful of other students tended to stick together, away from the masses. He wasn’t oblivious to the whispers, the sniggers, the snide remarks. He could brush those off, some way or another. But he was made to feel small at home too, by his aunts and uncle - that stung more than he’d like to admit.

However, his cousins, despite the considerable age gap between them, were a source of support: they grounded him, made life at home bearable. When Keshav was little, they weren’t irritated by what _must’ve_ been nothing short of him badgering them with questions. Rajni didi was there to ward off the unwanted comments with her fierce glare and quick tongue. Aman bhaiyya’s reassuring presence at his side, a hand resting on his shoulder, a squeeze of the arm. They were his anchor in this vast ocean of life, in a world that showed no mercy. Without them, he’d still feel like driftwood, aimless, weightless, directionless. They were an odd mix of personalities but were still a unit – he could count on them for anything and for that, Keshav was immensely grateful. Without them, especially with bhaiyya now in Delhi – he was often alone and left to his own devices, quite literally.

It was one of the reasons he’d become so attached to his iPad. It was something of a portal to a whole new world, one he could access at the touch of a few buttons. Social media, music and books were his Holy Trinity. They were his escape, his solace. He had numerous playlists on his Spotify account, for all sorts of moods. There were a few for his favourite books and series. Keshav spent many nights on this very terrace, staring up at the vast, inky expanse, an almost endless queue of songs for company. It was comforting, the combination of the night breeze, a canopy of stars and a range of melodies.

This night – there was a crescent moon and a scattering of stars - was one for contemplation and reflection, that much was obvious. Keshav couldn’t hope to dignify chacha’s admission in words so reached out and took his hand. It surprised them both, this gesture, for he hadn’t done it in years. Turning so he faced his uncle head on, he watched a range of expressions flit past on his face before finally settling on something close to guilt. When they bumped into each other on the landing, there was a hint, a _jhalak_ of this expression, though Keshav saw relief on chacha’s countenance first and foremost. But why? The question was answered a beat later by the man himself and he was taken aback once more – there seemed to be no end to the surprises that came his way, it seemed.

“Jab bhabhi aur bhaiyya – tumhare maa papa – guzar gaye – .” Keshav’s breath caught in his throat. To his recollection, no one had ever brought up his parents, in all these years. They didn’t breach the topic and so, who was he to? Perhaps he’d tried, when the wounds had healed slightly, after the first anniversary of their death. But all he received were averted gazes, muttered responses and a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. No one quite knew what to say, how to say it so it must’ve become an unspoken rule to say nothing at all. Until today. Keshav supposed he had his cousins – once again – to thank for this. They were forcing their parents to open up, confront their prejudices, deal with things that made them uncomfortable. Trying to push them to do the unthinkable. And this conversation was one of them. Yes, it was extremely late, but he supposed he should be thankful it was happening at all. Not wanting to break the train of thought, Keshav squeezed his uncle’s hand in encouragement. He sensed there were numerous Pandora’s boxes to unload here and he certainly wouldn’t be the one to stop it.

He listened in silence and finally, _finally_ understood his parents for the people they were. Living, breathing individuals, not just ghosts of his forgotten childhood. His mother’s carefree laughter, her unique cooking style. Her intelligence, her intuition, her curiosity, her compassion, her sense of humour, so much like his own. His father,, the middle brother, Rahul Tripathi. An excellent singer, a witty man. He’d pursued a field no less reputable than law or botany and it warmed his heart to hear of his father’s professional achievements. The pride in his uncle’s eyes, the unbridled love and affection that seeped into his voice as he took a long due trip down memory lane.

But above all, Keshav was thrilled to know that his parents were avid readers and loved to travel as much as possible. It aligned with how Keshav felt, his passion for books, for all kinds of mythology, with the legend of the Greek goddess Artemis being a favourite – another interest of his father's – the constant push in his mind, the desire to break free. His parents were quite unlike the other elders. Riya Tripathi was so different to her sisters – in - law that it took everyone by surprise. Nonetheless, the 6 of them had gotten on rather well and Keshav saw the smile on his uncle’s face fade at the turn his recollection takes. It’s here that he learns what brought on this unexpected conversation, at a time like this – both in terms of it being 3:30 in the morning and 10 years too late. But perhaps, at the tender age of 12, Keshav would not have been able to appreciate the memories of his parents, cherish them as he was now.

Chaman chacha explained to him how the couple’s unexpected passing hit them all and Keshav began to understand the roots of some of his otherwise inexplicable behaviour. His hatred for being kept in the dark, unaware about the world around him, his need to be updated on all kinds of news. The bouts of anxiety and uncertainty. The need for clarity, his aversion to taking risks. Nobody had really told him what had happened to his parents, why they wouldn’t be coming home. Not for a long while, really. The truth was masqueraded by different tales from those around him – when really, there was only one indisputable version of events. A collision on the highway, his parents’ crushed bodies – a painless and instant yet gory death. The way clouds of dreariness and despair cast themselves over Tripathi Nivas. The cousins’ bewilderment – though Aman did his best to shield his younger siblings from the worst of it all. He was the oldest, always the most responsible one. And it was here that Chaman chacha broke off his narration to address the crux of the matter.

“Kartik ke aane ke baad jo kuch bhi hua, bhaiyya aur bhabhi ke woh shabd, yeh faaltu ka kriyakaram. Rajni ko paraaya dhan maan na. In sabhi ne mujhe ek baat sikhaaya. Ki maine kabhi tum teeno ka saath nahi diya. Bhaiyya jo kehte, main woh chup chaap sunnta gaya. Rajni ko bematlab Goggle bulana, tumse Riya aur Rahul ke baare mein kabhi baat na karna, aur ab yeh. Maine zindagi mein pehli baar –”

Keshav watched as his uncle cleared his throat and wiped his cheeks with his free hand, utterly overcome by emotion. He was right about all of this. These were a set of memories, of thoughts, _opinions_ he’d suppressed for far too long and it had taken this, a massive jolt to the (frankly archaic) system to let them out.

“For the first time, I’ve taken a stand. Abhi abhi Aman se baat hua hai mera. Tu aur Rajni toh un dono ke saath de rahe ho. I’m incredibly proud of you for the same. Itne saalon se tum ek dusre ke dhaal bane ho. It was high time I add to you all, mujhe bhi himmat dikhana tha. Rajni ne dikhaya, uss buddhe se shaadi na karke, aaj bhi usne bhaiyya aur apni maa se sherni ki tarah lad ke. Aur agar maine Aman ke liye dikhaya toh tumhare liye kyun nahi?”

At this, Keshav felt warmth flood through him at this display of unabashed courage, the _apnapan_ in his voice, the affectionate gaze. For so long, he sought for this and here it was, right in front of him. The love of a parent, their understanding and support. His uncle reached out to ruffle Keshav’s hair and with this, the melancholy was broken, and it felt as if a fog had been cleared away, the intangible weight on his chest had eased slightly and though he wasn’t one for physical displays of emotion, he leapt forward and hugged his chacha. He responded in kind and they embraced for a few moments, drawing as well as giving comfort. It was Chaman who pulled away and gestured between them.

“So much has changed this week. I’ve seen you trying to educate us. Short of literally yelling at us, you’ve done all you could Keshav beta. Thank you. Lekin abhi mujhe sach mein seekhna hai. Maine Aman ko vaada toh kiya hai lekin un dono ko dikhana bhi hai, ki unke chacha unke saath khada hai. Haan, yeh sab bohaut achaanak se hua lekin kabhi na kabhi toh hona hi tha. I need to learn more. So you tell me, beta. Tell me about the LGBTQ+, is it? Haan, tell me about the community. Tell me about the world that we’ve so stubbornly refused to acknowledge and accept. There’s so much beyond these four walls, as your parents were fond of telling me. Hum se alag bohaut log hai, chahe woh unke sexuality ho, unki bhaasha, unke abilities… bohaut kuch. Mujhe bhi dikhao, beta!”

Keshav beamed at this and unlocked his phone. Until sunrise, he guided his eager, receptive uncle through the platforms of Twitter and Instagram, a bit of Tumblr too. His own accounts were relatively impersonal so there was nothing to steer clear of, as such. Keshav smiled as he watched his uncle learn much more. About the queer community - a space Keshav himself was navigating for a few years now. His uncle learnt more about the expansion of the acronym, the spectrum, the freedom of discovery. The lack of pressure to define oneself, ascribe labels. You were allowed to explore, not shove yourself into the dictated boxes. The acceptance of the community, how they were quick to defend anyone under the umbrella from bigotry. Chaman had frowned and muttered angrily about exclusionists within the community too and Keshav agreed wholeheartedly. There were some amazing blogs that he returned to in order to try and introduce his aunts and uncles to the concept of different sexualities and genders. The authors hadn’t complicated the matter unnecessarily and it likely would’ve served his purpose had Tauji in particular been willing to listen. It was the _least_ he could do for his bhaiyya, Kartik jiju and, by extension, his wonderful didi. It was only natural that they stood as a united front now.

Then came the advocates for disability, the changes that were being made, slowly but surely. The dangers of ableism and its language. As with everything (unfortunately) there were labels, slurs here too and it broke Keshav’s heart to see Chaman recognise the behaviour directed at his daughter for what it was. It was here, now, that he noted that for the past few days, the two of them had taken to calling Rajni just that. Rajni Tripathi. She wasn’t defined by her disability. She was so much more than ‘the part blind Tripathi child’. An excellent journalist, a courageous woman, a sister and a daughter. Just as Aman and Kartik weren’t defined by their sexuality. Disability and sexual orientation – not _remotely_ the same, obviously but with their own struggles - were simply facets to a person, not the only thing about them. He saw chacha begin to understand this and it made Keshav immensely happy, though the comprehension must’ve given way to something else for his expressions soon became forlorn. It was here that Chaman spoke up, regret lacing every word.

The terrace overlooked the aangan. The very space where so much had taken place. Keshav listened as his uncle spoke of watching the three of them grow, take their first steps here, achieve most milestones till date here. Only for the same space to now be marred by hatred and dishonourable actions – all Shankar Tripathi’s doing. How Chaman had been a spectator for it all. How he let it get so _bad_ , watched till it was too late. Keshav couldn’t refute this but reminded him of what he’d just done, the immense courage it had taken and Chaman smiled gratefully at this. Shaking his head, as if brushing away cobwebs, he gestured back to the phone and Keshav acquiesced, deciding to change gears in an attempt to lift both their spirits.

Thus, the pair ventured into the book and film ‘departments’ of these platforms and Keshav enjoyed in particular showing his chacha headcanons – approved by creators and otherwise – and the variety of fan work. Here too, he saw the older man recognise how things weren’t necessarily fixed, they could be expanded and altered to one’s own preferences – within reason, of course – and turn things on their head, reject the absence of diversity for example. Keshav saw his uncle understand the beauty of diversity and the smile this brought on made his cheeks ache.

Just as the last of the night was chased away, they explored the world of photography and travel they bonded over their longing to explore the world beyond Allahabad, beyond India even. Jokingly, Chaman said that he was too old for these shenanigans but Keshav brushed those concerns aside, promising his chacha that the cousins, Kartik and Chaman would explore to their heart’s content someday – just like Rahul and Riya Tripathi had hoped to. Keshav squeezed his uncle’s hand in understanding as that last part brought tears to the man’s eyes. Lastly, he set up accounts on Twitter and Instagram for Chaman chacha and helped him download the applications onto his phone. The utterances of gratitude that followed weren’t just for this, Keshav knew. Likewise, he couldn’t merely thank his uncle for his company. These few hours meant the world to them both and this was acknowledged silently – for no words would actually suffice to describe the value of what had transpired. Keshav stood up and Chaman followed suit. They were both apprehensive about what would transpire today. When and how would things be turned around for the better? So far as anyone knew, nothing had changed overnight. Nonetheless, the pair made their way downstairs, knowing they’d be dragged into the unnecessary chaos. Taking a deep breath, they stood at the foot of the stairs in the landing of the first floor and parted ways. It was up to them now, to speak up and be the good conscience of this family – stop them from going through with this sham.

**Author's Note:**

> Believe me, this piece became about thrice the length of what I'd planned and I hadn't expected it - perhaps it's a little OOC though we were given very little to begin with. That, though, is the power of writing :)
> 
> There's a lengthy playlist for this (again, unexpected) but for the most part, I had George Ezra on loop for this one.


End file.
